


Happy Together

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Daisy is only barely mentioned, Happy, M/M, Reading Together, aaahhh my babies, cuddleeesss, fluffiest fluff, post episode 159, pre episode 160, together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: Martin and Jon have moved to the safe house in Scotland and are adjusting to their new life together.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	Happy Together

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, enjoy the fluff my dears  
> xxx

It took a little bit of work, but Martin and Jon are getting used to the other’s presence. It took less time for Martin. Oh, how he hates being alone. After a week of accidental touches, uncomfortable nights, and awkward conversation, they have accepted the wonderful possibility of a future together. At least, for the time being.

When they first arrived at the safe house in Scotland, there was one bed. Of course, there was only one. Jon cursed himself for not Knowing this and planning for it. Martin, while nervous, was less apprehensive at the prospect of sharing.

“Martin, I’ll take the sofa. You need to sleep well, for once.” The stubborn line of his mouth proved he was not budging on this fact. Martin conceded, _yes o f c o u r s e he’ll sleep alone._

It seemed that Jon was the one struggling to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, he gave it up as useless and sat, eyes closed, listening to the quiet enveloping him. “N-no, stop.” Jon snapped to attention as Martin continued to whimper, “Mom, it’s me. No, no, don’t…” It all became too much. Jon silently crossed to the bedroom, softly opening the door. Martin’s brow was furrowed as he tossed and turned, caught in the grips of a nightmare.

“Oh, Martin-“ Jon sighed, “C’mere.” He knelt at the side of the bed, a hand on Martin’s clammy arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Come on,” Jon gently shook his shoulder, “Wake up. Martin, I’m right here.” Finally, he awoke, a shaking, shivering mess, and grabbed Jon’s hand.

“J-jon. I’m…” He trailed off as Jon climbed into the bed next to him, “What are you doing?”

“No more nightmares on my watch.” Jon squeezed his hand, “You go to sleep. I’ll be right here.” Martin smiled to himself and fell asleep, curled towards Jon’s watchful form.

He didn’t complain. The nights passed much easier with Jon by his side, and the comfort of another person’s breathing. Jon didn’t complain. Watching the worry and fear slip off Martin’s face as he slept brought him a fierce, protective joy. Often Jon lay in bed until the sun woke Martin, just to be close to him without ruining anything with pesky words.

The cabin was not large, by any stretch of the imagination. The accidental touches of the hand while eating on the couch (tables are for the weak) that made Martin flush, the bumps in the hallway that only served to increase Jon’s yearning to seize him and personally cuddle the loneliness out of Martin, and the brushes in the small kitchen became experiences both craved yet feared. One can only live, restrained, for so long.

It was a boring movie, but a welcome distraction nonetheless. As the pointless characters droned on and on, Jon couldn’t help but sneak glances at the soft person next to him. Martin fidgeted with his yellow sweater, nervous at being so close yet s o f a r a w a y from Jon. The TV went ignored, serving only as a point of pretend interest as slowly, so slowly, the two shifted closer and closer together.

Jon could feel Martin breathing. Holding his own breath, he confidently took Martin’s hand. Soon it wasn’t only their hands intertwined. “Jon,” Martin whispered slowly, “Is thi- is this okay?” he gestured to themselves, to the way Jon rested against him, totally relaxed in Martin’s arms.

“It’s more than okay with me, as long as you are happy,” Jon looked up at him, smiling softly, “I’m happy.”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he brushed a hair off Jon’s forehead, “I’m very happy right now.” Martin closed his eyes, letting the movie lull him into a strange, almost-asleep state where he was still aware of Jon curled up with him.

Martin didn’t complain. It was quite comfortable, and the poor man was touch starved after the Lonely. Jon didn’t complain. He felt so safe and cared for. It was easier to fall asleep in the lovely warmth of Martin.

Jon and Martin had worked together for so long, been through so many traumatic experiences and misunderstandings, at first their conversations were broken. Both hesitant, trying to find the right words. Each exchange was a minefield of old wounds, and the men were healing. But eventually Martin’s concern and affection for Jon pulled down the walls of language and made way for communication. Now, even the quiet is conversation. A mute exchange of body language and feather touches.

Martin didn’t complain. His thoughts are so often circling around the man he loves, it was natural to encircle him with his protective body and words. Jon didn’t complain. He lost Martin once before to silence, Jon wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Morning, Jon.” Martin shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and blinking in the sunlight.

“Morning, love,” Jon sat at the small wooden table, looking out at the sunrise.

Martin crossed to the stove, surprised to find a kettle already warming there. He smiled, hugging Jon from behind. “Thank you.”

“You, er, are welcome. I thought you might like some tea with breakfast?” Jon twisted to face him, “But you might want to take care of it. I’m really not the best at it.” Martin laughed softly in agreement.

“After spoiling you for so long with my tea, you forgot how to brew a proper cup yourself?” he teased. Jon flushed slightly but nodded. “Alright the, two cups of tea a la Martin, coming right up.”

Mornings with Martin were always Jon’s favorite part of the day. They spoke few words, each engrossed in something else. He was fascinated with the way Martin softened everything, from Jon’s heart to the very words Martin spoke, gentleness a carpet beneath his feet. A cup of tea for Jon and one for him, drunk in lazy quiet, hands brushing, sun warming tired faces.

Daisy’s cabin had a small library. Jon reveled in the stories, most of them already read. It was remarkable how similar his and Daisy’s tastes in books were. Every time he walked into the room of books (too small to really qualify as a library) a bittersweet sense of loss and nostalgia overcame him. Jon pulled down volume after volume of mystery, fantasy, and even a cheesy horror. This seemed so at odds with his and Martin’s life, they decided to read it aloud together.

On sleepy afternoons Jon and Martin would read this small paperback to each other, the windows open to the world outside. As Martin read, Jon idly fidgeted with the thick curly hair in his lap, enjoying the weight and closeness of Martin. When Jon took his turn, the corny story of blood and ghosts turned into a fascinating tale in Martin’s ears. He was unable to decide if he enjoyed the story or the sound of Jon’s voice. He traced unknown secrets into the small of Jon’s back, words too precious to be said aloud.

“I love you.”


End file.
